


Acerbus Sidus

by Akuma Memento Mori_reposted fics (BBJ_3)



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hallmark was blamed, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Oneshot, Sort Of, apparently the monster is hot in it, cause it is Prince Nuada, he names the monster, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBJ_3/pseuds/Akuma%20Memento%20Mori_reposted%20fics
Summary: In that moment he realized Victor Frankenstein was a man plagued by illness and an insatiable thirst for knowledge which cost him dearly. The tension that had burned for so long loosened and it took all his strength of will not to pin Victor and kiss him.





	Acerbus Sidus

Those frightened eyes followed him in his mind's eye as he stumbled down the hill and slipped falling to the ground. Staying where he fell he pulled his knees up and resting his elbows upon them he wept into his hands. The hands of a monster. Something within his chest ached with confusion and desperation that he had not felt since the day when he had been chased out of the house by the family. The creator had been so frightened, so terrified at the sight of his own creation. It had hurt in a place beyond understanding that he was trying to help and so quickly the other was so afraid. Yet in truth he had never considered things from his creator's perspective. He had never found a reason to until he had seen those frightened eyes in mourning. Wide and filled with shock, as if that man had not believed him capable of murder. At first he simply thought the other an idiot, and then he saw the truth. Somehow, his creator had never stopped hoping that rebirth and morality could survive with hands entwined. As the body slipped from his fingers and the other fell to his knees in silent, numbing acquiescence to death; that was when he knew beyond a doubt that he could never kill that man. That he had always known himself incapable of such an act. The creator was his tormentor, but in him was the only hope for some minute amount of joy.

So here he was, running away for what seemed the millionth time. Yet not so much running away as he had known before as no one was chasing him now. It was a panicked run away from himself, away from the deeds he had committed. The coldness of the artic was now his home. He would restrain himself and hope that the creator would forget all that had occurred and leave well enough alone. He could not possibly face that glimmer of hope that had sparkled in the depths of the creator's eyes, even if it was for the briefest of moment. Not after what he had done to Elizabeth and Henry. Not after all the lives he had destroyed in order to have his revenge. His creator had no more expected success then he had expected life. True, he was frightening and if what he had learned was true it was likely the fever that his creator had obtained during his birth that caused the intensity of fear that brought a brilliant man to mindless action.

It was the first time he had ever considered how the events surrounding his birth would have unfolded if he had not been ill. If the creator had instead had a solid body and mind enough to have spoken to him in kind words. Placate the immediate hunger for contact that had blossomed within him the moment he first opened his eyes. He convinced himself with ease that a simple touch of the hand and gentle removing of the wires with soft words would have been enough for him to stay still and listen to intently. He imagined without trouble how beautiful his life could have been under the creator's tutelage. Under a smiling, yet most likely still sickly, guardian who would have taught him of life. A creator that would have loved him so dearly and believed so completely in his being just like any other human. A child of God, a child of compassion. A child made in love, whether it was by ordinary means or godlike mortal feats. Choking on his tears he fell back against the ground staring at the stars. They were always so beautiful. They made him feel so tiny, so small. He felt like a human, looking at the stars as they shown uncaring of what eyes gazed upon them.

As his tears dried in lines upon his face he could not keep from smiling as he heard light footsteps that slid against the cold ground. The creator was still following, perhaps this was no different from any other running he had done. He was certain much time had passed, enough that this was no accident that the other was so close. The snow chilled his body yet the urge to laugh rose up in his throat but he held it inside and continued to look upon the stars. He had to think. He had to listen. He had to understand why he was made. It was the only thing that could save them both. A reason beyond accidental. A reason beyond experimentation. A reason that dug at the very root of the creator's actions. Letting his eyes slid shut he imagined the stars staring back down upon him. Imagined them smiling, or perhaps frowning. He imagined they were angels that listened to his prayer that were aloud and those that were silent. The creator slipped and skidded across the icy ground to a stop standing a foot away from his head. His breath was coming out in pants and then he listened as the other fell to his knees once again. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up into those weeping, frightened eyes. The eyes that wracked his soul with guilt, regret, and pride. Guilt at his ignorance to the plight of his maker. Regret at those he had destroyed in order to hurt this man. They had no part in the quarrel between these two ungodly creatures. A man who challenged death and God with his brilliant mind and the monster he made with that brilliance. And pride that even with so many dead; he had in the end surpassed his creator. Outsmarted the genius that raised the dead. Oh, yes. He may not have an Eve of ordinary standing. But he had a broken creator, a broken angel at his head. Looking up into those eyes he knew that even without revenge complete, he had won. The creator was destroyed, the creator was his. And perhaps, he considered, that was really the point from the start.

"Why?" he asked looking up into those beautiful, lonely eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it and his eyes when nothing came out. Tears formed along his eyelashes and fell onto the ground and his forehead. Reaching a hand up to touch the water he brought it before his face. It looked no different from any tear he had cried. Yet it was a human tear. Looking away from his hand and back upon the face of his creator he smiled. The pain that was etched on every facet of the other's face was both agonizing and exciting. He was thrilled at his success but destroyed by it at the same time. His anger, his fury, his blinding rage that had brought him so far now failed to give him the single chance to speak ill of this man. Ruined any hope for pure joy at his shattered heart. Reaching up he wiped away the tears, but stayed his hand when those once frightened eyes opened wide and stared in shock down at him. There was no fear in those eyes, simply surprise. He pondered that perhaps the other had given up on everything. That those deaths upon his conscience were already too much a weight, too great a burden for his sickly body to carry.

"Are we not the only two that can comprehend such sins that we have both, in time, performed?" he whispered letting his hand trace the pallid complexion as tears streamed down from dispirited eyes that fell half lidded at this as if the pain was a splay of colors before his eyes instead of spearing words.

When he received no answer he leaned upwards slowly, the other stayed still, and cautiously touched their lips together. It was no explosion of emotions or sudden passion as they kissed. But somewhere inside came the distinct feeling of knots loosening. As if this were finally how they should be. Nothing special or unordinary, just simply as if finally all parts of the world had aligned. Smiling he sat up the rest of the way, never removing all contact of their two bodies. Facing the man who had made him, the man who had brought such a curse life into the relentlessly cruel world of men, he felt a sense of peace for the first time in his life since that moment when he first opened his eyes and looked upon hope in clouded green eyes. Something within him told him without words that he had to protect this man. That he belonged to this man and the man to him. That they were wound together through their vices and their selfless acts. That this one needed him.

"I'm not your father," the creator whispered his eyes fluttering to the ground and then back up in defiance as if he expected the words to reignite the fires within him.

"I don't want you to be," he whispered and leaned closer, taking thrill in the fact that still his creator did not pull away, "Or I would not touch you like this…" kissing him again he felt sweet serenity unfold within his bosom and he could not keep himself from acting.

Pulling the other against him he felt chills dance up his spine at the sensations. When the need for breath overcame his desperation, he took his lips away and looked down upon his creator's face. The cold had paled most of his exposed skin but his cheeks were a rosy red in response to the harsh winds. His lashes were speckled with snow as was his hair. He was recently shaved and his lips were a bright red that spoke of the kiss they had just shared. Tilting his head to the side as he played with the creator's hair he allowed the questions that churned in his stomach to arise.

"Why are you here?"

Green eyes fluttered to the ground and then up before falling back to the ground, "I am not your father…but all you do is my burden to bear as much as it is yours. I brought you into this world. I-I…" tears ran down his cheeks as their eyes met, "I am to fault for your hatred of humanity. I made you and so it was my responsibility to teach you how to live, to help you. I abandoned you. All you have done is my fault."

"Do you regret making me?" shock once more filled the creator's eyes and as his jaw clenched he seemed to be fighting himself as if he wasn't sure of the answer.

"Yes."

The answer was painful, but it was expected and so the pain was mostly numbed. The majority of the hatred his creator felt towards him was justified as was his hatred of his maker, "Why did you make me? Why did you bring me into this world like this?"

This question had been asked several times before but the intonation inquired deeper than previous answers could cover. He was not asking for the scientific reason, for the emotional tale of a boy who missed his mother, nor a story about a child intrigued with alchemists. He wanted an answer that spoke of thought and care. An answer that was honest before all else was what he desperately desired. He craved an answer that explained why he had been wanted before he had been alive and despised once he was alive. Surely the creator understood that his appearance would not change upon awakening. That life would not undo the stitches and heal his puzzle pieced body. That lightning could not teach him to speak or move. That his first moments would be filled with confusion and desperation for love. That all he wanted in those moments was to help his fallen maker.

"I wanted to find a way to never hurt again…to create someone that I knew was alive. I wanted to be able to control if those I loved died. I thought…" his voice cracked and he looked away unable to keep the unwavering gaze of those determined blue eyes, "I thought that if I could raise the dead once…I could do it again should I lose someone too soon. It was selfish and you…you never asked me to give you life. You did not have a choice. You were a victim to my own desperate need to have no fear of death. I never considered success possible, though I hoped for it obsessively. I do not know why I thought I would not be afraid. I was not daunted by your appearance when you lied dead, for you were dead and such was explainable. I had sewn dead tissue together, that was that. But seeing you alive…it did not frighten me either. What frightened me was darkness and then you towering over me. I did not think of you as a monster until I was not the one in control of the situation."

"Did you not think it possible that I was trying to help you?"

"No," he replied, "I did not even estimate that you could walk. Your muscles were not completely destroyed but your control over them surpassed all estimations."

Disappointment filled him as the silence hovered unbroken in the air between them. Neither was quite sure how to respond to the other's presence, instincts fought within them as to whether to fight or continue to remain in a comforting embrace. They stayed still, entwined yet still with an impalpable distance between them that was slowly destroying them. Time slowly passed until a sigh escaped his creator's lips and he leaned against the strong chest of his creation. His finger curled in the black thick coat as he pulled closer. Allowing this the taller pulled his creator in and wrapped his arms tightly around him as he shivered, his sickly body once more altering the ante of the equation between them. Knowing that the other would have a greater chance of becoming violently ill the longer they remained exposed to the elements, he lifted his creator into his arms and walked towards the nearest town. Whether he wanted to approach civilization again did not matter, his maker would die if he became as ill as he was on that night.

"Where are you taking me?" the hot breath fanned across his neck as arms twined around his neck. There was no fear in the movements or the words, simply resignation to whatever would come.

"Do you still not trust me, creator?" he retorted looking into the slowly fogging green eyes, "I am taking you to the village. You need to get warm."

"I…" his voice trailed off as he blinked slowly, "I have money for rooms at an inn."

"Good, because I do not."

They passed the rest of the way to the town in silence and only upon entering the edge did his creator speak again, "What do you call yourself?"

Pausing in mid step he looked down at the man in his arms and swiftly came to the conclusion that it was the coming fever that had him asking such strange questions. Continuing forward he replied, "I call myself 'me' 'I' and all that belongs to my person is 'mine.' I was given no name."

"No one?" disbelief filled the other's voice, "In all these years?"  
"No one," was the sober answer.

"Shall I name you?" he asked and the smile that had diminished during the travel returned partway.

"If it suits."

The other fell into silent thought. The people up in the artic were used to scars and monstrous faces caused by the wild and the winds; they asked no questions as he walked through town. When they arrived at the inn, he placed his creator on a chair and took the money from him. Going over to the desk he saw the wide eyes of uncertainty fade swiftly as the innkeeper looked around him to the paling form of his maker.

"How much for a room?" he asked moving so that those curious brown eyes no longer looked past him.

"Is your friend all right? He looks a little feverish?" the man asked instead of answering.

"He'll be fine once he is warm. Now, how much for a room?"

The eyes flickered back to him and then in an attempt to look past him. When the innkeeper failed he asked, "Two beds?"

"Yes."

"Twenty-five a piece, so fifty," was the reply. Opening the coin purse he removed the necessary money and handed it to the innkeeper without a word. Nodding the innkeeper said, "Grab your friend and follow me."

Helping his creator to his feet he barely heard the soft whisper, "Daniel."

"What?" he inquired as he helped his creator walk down the hall to a room.

"Daniel," the other explained, "It means 'God is my judge.' I think it suits."

It was in that moment as he looked over into fogged green eyes that he first saw Victor Frankenstein as more than just his creator. He saw him as a man plagued by illness and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. A man haunted by what that thirst had given him and the lives that search had cost. The knot that felt so tight and tense barely hours ago loosened further and it took all his strength of will not to pin Victor against the wall and kiss him. He wanted nothing more than to touch him but knew the judgment that would come from those like the innkeeper. And they could not risk remaining in the cold. Victor was so delicate and fragile.

"Here you two go," The innkeeper opened the door as they entered he said, "If you need anything just ask," before leaving.

Sitting him on the bed he turned and closed the door. As he turned he saw that the other was removing his coat and outer layers. Moving he knelt before him and helped to unlace his boots. A hand touched his hair and he looked up into the sorrow filled face of a broken angel. Smiling he leaned up and kissed him, hoping that the comfort he received from the contact was also felt by him. When he pulled back Victor's hands wound in his hair and he was dragged forward into another kiss. This kiss was just as chaste as the other yet the desperation behind it seemed to have compounded. One of his hands rested on the edge of the bed and the other cupped Victor's face. The other's hands remained tangled in his hair and when the kiss broke they stayed still for a moment before Daniel lifted Victor and laid him beneath the covers.

"You need to rest," he explained though he knew the words were unnecessary. Turning he moved toward the other bed when a hand caught his own. Looking back his heart nearly stopped when he spoke.

"Stay with me…" he pleaded softly and did not release his grip until Daniel nodded.

Removing his outer layers he moved beneath the covers. He was uncertain of what to do; he had never before been in such a situation. When Victor moved closer to him, resting his head upon his chest, he nearly jumped. After a moment when the other did not move he let his arms rest in a loose hold as he stared at the flickering movements of those delicate eyelashes against his rosy, wind frosted cheeks. He did not know how long he spent simply watching the other drift into sleep and slumber before he too joined. The chain of events could have continued but they did not. They could have been destroyed by the hatred and love shared between them, but they were not. He slept that night knowing that the time that followed would truly be the beginning of his life and that his creator had given him what he asked for. A companion, a lover; for he was given Victor Frankenstein.

 


End file.
